A Touch of Malice (Hades x Persephone #3)(92)

Hades joined her, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles.

“Are you well?”

“I am…satisfied,” she answered and met his gaze. “Let’s go to bed.”

Hades did not argue, and as they returned to their chamber, she realized that vengeance had a taste—it was bitter and metallic with an underlying sweetness.

And she craved it.

“Persephone,” Hades said her name, a tinge of concern in his voice. She knew he wondered if he’d gone too far in showing her the Forest of Despair.

She shed her robes, feeling tense. She rolled her shoulders before turning to face him.

“Hades,” she replied. She needed him inside her, needed the distraction and release he would provide.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he said, though his eyes burned with a desire so potent, her legs already shook. “Are you sure you want this tonight?”

“It’s all I want,” she said.

He took another step, closing the space between them and their mouths collided, tongues sweeping together. She shivered beneath his hands, arching into him, her hips desperate to move against his. She helped him out of his robes as she kissed down his chest, making her way to his swollen sex. As her lips touched his head, he gave a sigh—it was heavy and almost raw, scraping against his throat.

She peered up at him, curious to see his expression—full of dark passion. It only encouraged the fire in the pit of her stomach. The space between her thighs dampened, her body preparing to accommodate him.

“Is this okay?” She wasn’t sure why she asked. Maybe she just wanted to hear him say yes with that all-consuming fire in his eyes.

“More than,” he replied, and she returned to him, tongue tasting from tip to base, teasing each ridge and lapping at velvet skin. He inhaled between his teeth when he hit the back of her throat, fingers twining into her hair. She looked up at him. His gaze was tender, loving, and yet it scorched her soul, heating every part of her until she was molten.

“You don’t know the things I wish to do to you,” he said.

She held his gaze, giving the crown of his cock a final hard suck and then released him. She straightened, her head tipping toward his, their mouths level as she whispered, “Show me.”

It was a dare—and Hades accepted the challenge. His hand tightening on the back of her neck, he brought her mouth to his, tongue invading and twining with her own and then, as if she weighed nothing, he drew her to the center of the bed. Again, his mouth covered hers sucking and caressing. She bowed against him, her fingers digging into his muscled arms until he pinned them over her head—and then she felt something twinning around them—something soft but restraining—she gazed upward and found her wrists were bound with shadow-magic.

A thread of unease shivered through her.

“Is this okay?” he asked, sitting back, his strong thighs straddling her, his cock heavy and erect. She swallowed, that strange thread of disquiet pulling at the back of her mind. Was it okay? She couldn’t decide.

This is Hades, she reminded herself. You are safe.

She nodded, the unease dissipating the longer he raked her with that heated gaze.

Hades smirked, and her heart beat harder in her chest, anticipation curling tight inside her.

“I will make you writhe,” he promised, crawling up her body with predatory grace. “I will make you scream; I will make you come so hard you will feel it for days.”

His mouth closed over hers, moving so that his legs were between hers and he kissed down her body, his skin slithering deliciously against her clit as he made his way to her center—and yet her chest tightened in a way that wasn’t familiar.

She tried to release the feeling that had knotted right beside her heart, but she couldn’t breathe deep enough. She lifted her head, watching Hades descend, pausing to press kisses to the inside of her thighs, licking the sensitive flesh.

Safe, she thought over and over—the feeling in her chest in conflict with the fire in the bottom of her stomach. Safe. Safe. Safe.

Then he spread her wide, flattening her legs against the bed and suddenly, she couldn’t breathe at all. It was like she had found herself in the Styx all over again, being drawn from the surface of the black water to the dark depths in the grip of the dead who lived there. The more she struggled, the harder she was held, the darker everything became. The bindings on her wrist were rough—rope, she realized. The hands upon her thighs were clammy.

“Persephone.”

The voice was muffled, but she moved toward it.

“Hades,” she choked on his name.

A hand broke below the surface of the water, and she reached for it, but as she came up for air, she found herself face-to-face with Pirithous—gaunt face, pale lips, bleeding eyes—and she was suddenly returned to that wooden chair. Its edges biting into her skin. Pirithous loomed on his knees before her.

“Ungrateful,” his voice grated.

“No, no, no!”

She pressed her bare legs together, even as Pirithous’ hand skimmed her from calve to thigh.

“I was protecting you,” he seethed, leering over her, blood dripping from his face onto her skin. “And this is how you repay me?”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she cried, but Pirithous’ grip tightened, his fingers dug into her, and he pried her legs apart, pinning his body between them. She collapsed forward in an attempt to push away, and something sour crawled up the back of her throat.